I had a birthday last week. It did not spark joy.
I know, I should be grateful that I’m still on the correct side of the dirt, and reasonably healthy and very, very lucky. Blah, blah, blah.
Seriously, I am grateful. But…
I’ve always had a fraught relationship with my birthday.
When I was a kid it was fun, balloons, cake and stuff. Except for that one year when I was about ten, and my parents totally forgot it. I kept thinking they were planning a big surprise party or something. Nope. Just slipped their mind until my grandmother called. Oops.
I’ve never felt I was the right age. When I was young, I was too young. I couldn’t drive, drink or go to clubs.
Then boom!
I was old, or at least it felt that way. I was in college but by then Cameron Crowe had been writing for Rolling Stone since he was a tween. I was already behind.
I finally did write for Rolling Stone, and a bunch of other great (yay me!) publications. It was fun when I was actually working, and miserable when I was trying to get work. Think of it as ALWAYS selling yourself. Yup, that much fun.
They say that breaking into acting is hard on ones ego. Try being a writer. That’s real rejection.
Anyway, writing was and is the best gig I’ve ever had. But in an effort to actually earn a living, I did PR for years. It was okay, but lying er, embellishing the truth, isn’t my best attribute. Telling the truth isn’t always positive PR.
I have actually had this conversation: “This artist isn’t exactly my taste, but what the hell do I know? Our A&R people love it. Please give it a listen. Okay?????”
Which I guess is better than saying: “This album blows chunks, but the singer is also blowing the A&R guy. So give it a listen.”
Which sometimes works, unless said A&R person overhears. Oops again.
I digress. When I went back to writing I contacted the places I used to write for, or at least the ones that were still in existence. Not a lot were.
My favorite, or at least most memorable call was to Rolling Stone. My editor, a man older
than me, told me point blank that I was too old to write about music.
I was so stunned I forgot to ask him why it was that women aged faster than
men.
It’s been a lot like that.
I went to UCLA for a year to learn screenwriting, because it seemed like
something I could do. It is. I’ve written a bunch of scripts, some of which
might actually be commercial.
Of course I forgot that screenwriters age even faster than pop music writers do. (Riley Weston anybody?)
I applied a couple of times for an apprenticeship at a well-known production company that claimed it was created the specifically to help solve the diversity program in the business. Since old is an under-represented segment of the writing community I figured it was worth a shot.
But I absolutely knew I wouldn’t get another look (and neither would a lot of applicants) when, in addition to a lengthy application that included two scripts, they required a one minute video from everyone explaining why they should get accepted.
I fully accept that my scripts might have been terrible. Yet. Not one of the 80 finalists was over 25. Not. One. Nor were there many women of color.
Just saying.
Since then I’ve done all of the online job applications. I am getting contacted by employers.
As of today I’ve been recruited by Uber. Lyft and about a zillion phony universities purporting to help me reach my career goals by charging me a fortune for a useless degree.
Nope. For one thing, gas is $4 a gallon and I don’t even like taking Uber. And I’m already overeducated and under earning.
I’m still looking for work, but forgive me if I don’t celebrate my birthday with wild excitement.
60 is only the new 30 if you’re selling Botox or wrinkle cream. Wait a minute. Maybe I can be the ‘before’ pictures!
Lionsandtigersandbearsetc 